Now whatever this is

There are times when i wish,
if we could see through each others eyes,
beyond the seen and the felt.
Into the unseen and undealt.

I would promise you a flower on a rainy day,
and i would promise you a dance in a moonlight sway,
I would promise you a walk along the green mountains,
and we would make wishes in the silly forgotten fountains.

There is so much to say
And there is so much to do
Dont let the sun go down on me
Dont let the sun go down on you.

Bring out your dreams
which you left behind with your broken heart,
we would live them together..
Let me listen to your favourite song
and we would dance to the rhythm together.


I can count the stars all night long,
and hear the moon calling us on.
Its been so long that i have wanted to hold a hand tight.
Under a sky swelling with love and stars all bright.


There is so much to say
And there is so much to do
Dont let the sun go down on me
Dont let the sun go down on you

I would promise you a flower on a rainy day,
and i would promise you a dance in a moonlight sway,
I would promise you a walk along the green mountains,
and we would make wishes in the silly forgotten fountains.

There is so much to say
And there is so much to do
Dont let the sun go down on me
Dont let the sun go down on you.

...

Something i wrote, and something which i made unnecessarily long, i mean the repititions :p

If you'd like to walk a while
We could waste the day
Follow me into the trees
I will lead the way

Bring some change up to the bridge
Bring some alcohol
There we'll make a final wish
Just before the fall

Promise I will be forever yours
Promise not to say another word
Nevermind whats done is done
Always was a lucky one

Watch the sunrise all alone
Sitting on the tracks
Hear the train come roaring in
Never coming back

Laying quiet in the grass
Everything is still
River stones and broken bones
Scattered on the hill

Promise I will be forever yours
Promise not to say another word
Nevermind whats done is done
Always was a lucky one

Promise I will be forever yours
Promise not to say another word
Here forever deep beneath the dirt
Nevermind whats done is done
Always was a lucky one

-'Still' Foo Fighters

I think i am obsessed with Neruda.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
that this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

-Pablo Neruda

Sleeping Beauty and Sleeping Beautah.

Beauty is up after a long, long slumber and no it isnt acutally making things around her quite pretty, as happens in fairytales. So to make things better, she decides to blog and probably give Beautah an incentive to blog too, both enthuless people in this hopeless world leading dull lives, just like the dull eyes behing the soda glasses framing aged eyes that are witnessing colourful flashes of the panoramic images of an ancient television.

...

Hey hey, guess what even i think that doesnt make sense, and this is precisely why i think at times i shut down my blogs, this is not just writer's block, its probably a plethora of blocks which has made this inefficiency into an incurable tumour. I think have probably lost all sense of conviction, so as to have nothing to blog about. I dont know what keeps me so busy, whatever it is, i dont think its making me a better person or a happy person. No its not just about not having the time to blog once a week or once in ten days, its losing the love i had for something which i treasured and enjoyed doing. No, i dont want to sound mellow and dramatic, and have readers nod their heads in sympathy, but i really wonder what kind of lives we lead nowadays. Not having time, and just not having it...it makes me feel so pathetic and oh so irritated.

Do we as individuals cease to exist, because we are engrossed in self-discovery, which mind you never ever ends, and probably one is not even sure what they want to discover in themselves. The aspirations are embodied right infront your eyes, only because somewhere you know it isnt just happening, and so we are hoping for the wrong
things, knowing that its bad wanting them, knowing that you would never get what you
anticipated. And endless fights with destinations and dreams, with aspirations and inhibitions, with love and hate, with you and me. I am so done, so very done with myself, i wish i could shed me like a snake does when it wants to get a new skin. Wow, finally i wish to be reptile :|. Bad joke, is it ?

...

I have been reading too much of Lenin and Marx, of Foucault and Lacan, of Laclau and Mouffe, of Zizek and Roy, i need some life, i need some good books which can relax me
and help reinstate the aesthetic pleasure which flushed me in..into the endless dreams of a less complicated world, lover and society. I forgot Pamuk, Neruda, Plath, Morrison, Ghosh, Rimbaud, Hugo, Wordsworth, Keats, Xingjian, Murakami and Enid Blyton and so many more... Buy me my past ? will you ?